Trial and Errors
by Captain Arthur
Summary: Part of my ongoing goal to make the world love my OT3. Deal. Prepare for alot of yaoi, and pairings centered around England and his siblings... AAAAAAnnnnnddddd... More inside
1. The Scrying

_**~It's me, Cap'n. I disclaim all right to characters and claim rights to mine ideas. Just a warning for this chapter and all the way through. The main pairings are the Isle siblings and DenmarkxPrussiaxEngland. Heavy incest, abuse, GAY SEX, magic, sex, swearing, strange accents, GAY SEX, human names, dragons, GAY SEX and most of all a large heaping of GAY GAY GAY GAY SEX. I mean, there's some bondage and capture and weird stuff going on, but if you're a complete homophobe, don't say I didn't warn you. VERY VERY GAY. (With like, a single straight pairing that involves INCEST.) You have been warned. Seriously. Now have fun reading~**_

"Who d' th'y think th'y 're?" Wales, youngest of the British Isle sibling, winced as Scotland slammed a fist down on the table. The eldest scowled like a summer storm, face so red with anger it nearly matched his hair. Ireland was fingering the handle of her hammer with one hand, eyes misty and narrowed as she gazed into her crystal ball. The images flashed across the smooth surface under her fingertips. Her northern twin had both hands on the globe, his own grass green eyes misty and far away.

The image the twins were focused on did not seem particularly harmful. Prussia and Denmark were napping, their heads on England's lap as the short blonde read a large novel, reading glasses perched on his nose. The tall countries' legs went off the ends of the couch, but they all appeared comfortable. Extremely comfortable, as all three were in boxers and England was wearing an unbuttoned shirt, while the other two sported plain white tank tops.

Britain turned the page and got a crick out of his neck, glancing down at the two on his lap fondly. He closed his book, folded up his glasses and put them on the coffee table, running his hand through the messy tangle of blonde hair and the colourless tresses of the other.

The angle changed smoothly, North wincing as it did so, as if they were seeing out of the TV. Britain and the two figures were easily visible from this angle as he stroked their hair and then leaned down, kissing each of their foreheads and then sitting back and relaxing, eyes closed for a moment.

Scotland growled at each kiss. The youngest in the room swallowed uneasily, and clutched the table, almost unhappy not to be breathing in the signature cigar smoke. All four tensed in the small dusty room as the subject of their scrying opened his eyes curiously, glancing around; his piercing eyes finding them, blinking, squinting. He said one word and Wales recognized it; but only because he'd heard it for his entire existence; _Ireland? _

The twins shuddered at their collective name, closing their eyes and lifted their hands from the globe as if burned. Wales blinked, sinking lower in his seat, almost unsure what was going on, and he glimpsed the same curiously bothered expression lividly obvious on Scotland's face across from him. Then, North and South Ireland were in a tangle, North clutching at South and murmuring in Gaelic. She held him fast, in turn, their foreheads pressed against each other as they repeated a recalling phrase in slightly differing accents. Eventually, Wales recovered from his confusion to understand what they were saying, though its significance was lost on him.

"T'e wind, t'e tide and back… back… back…"

The Irish pair repeated the mantra, holding each other tightly, their freckled fingers twisting into strawberry blonde locks. The images had fled the surface of the globe the moment they had lost contact with it. Finally, their strange saying changed and they both sounded a little less far off.

"T'e wind, t'e tide and in… in… in…"

Both stiffened and then relaxed into an Irish heap, almost as if they had come. Carlin kissed her brother's forehead, he kissed her neck and then both opened grassy green eyes, looking at Scotland. The eldest glared back, his mossy eyes defiant. "W'll?"

Their minds must still have been working as one, as they spoke in a harmonic unison. "He g't in, as he dos, and he knows. He pushed us 'ut, found out why we were scrying and th'n let us reel ourselves ba'k in… and he left us a litt'e somethin'." The two of them licked their lips and gave Scotland identical lazy grins. "Yeh know 'ow he is."

Alistor growled and stood, pacing the room. Wales sunk into his seat as the male Ireland pulled himself from his sister's embrace and slid deftly across the table, taking his seat again. Both twins were blushing as they realized what they had been doing, slightly embarrassed as they came back to their senses. Scotland's fist landed on the table again.

He put both large hands on the table, flattening them. "Th's 's wh't we'r goin' t' do. We'r goin' t' steal our brother back." Wales blinked.

_A long time ago, they had all lived in a big house, both when Albion was alive, and after she died. Scotland, whose virginity had been taken by invaders, made an executive decision. His siblings would find it better if they were to lose theirs to family. And as the strongest and most willful, he made it so. Not as if any of them would have been bothered to stop him; incest wasn't a word that would matter for several hundred more years; and even now it didn't._

_However, the twins had had each other, and South had no interest in her Northern-most brother. So Scotland made do with North Ireland for a bit. England was next, and Wales could remember feeling slightly guilty that night, and every night for the next week. He walked in on them three times before locking himself in his barn with some of his dragons at the time and summoning food from the kitchen. He would never get the images of England; cheeks flushed as he was pounded into the counter until it broke; of Scotland with his thick fingers wound through England's blonde hair as his battered younger brother sucked him off; or of England yet again, strung up in his own room like a pig for slaughter, his eldest brother smirking as he teased him to the point of pain; out of his head. He was pretty sure England had already lost his virginity, but he would never ever tell Scotland such a thing._

_As youngest, Wales had been last, and it had almost been a family bonding experience. He could remember North's tongue, his mouth on his neck, England's bright eyes and how his older brother had filled him, and Scotland's reassuring murmurs, their soft touches and reassurances, the cigar smoke that followed Scotland like his personal cloud, the way his Irish brother had yielded easily below him…_

Back then, they had had Arthur. Back then, he was theirs. Now he was Prussia's and Denmark's; and he knew the Nordic and German would enjoy and treat his brother well. They probably took better care of him than he could himself. But Dylan had a niggling feeling he was going to help Scotland. He was the boss after all…

"We'r goin' t' remind 'im who his family is." Wales swallowed at the words, wondering where his mind had been for all of five seconds, because the words translated into: _We're going to fuck his brains out and he's going to like it._

South shifted and the twins made eye contact over the table, probably sharing a telepathic message before looking back into the green fiery depths of Scotland's eyes. Mossy green fire.

"An' when thos' two com' fer 'im, we make sure we aren't welcomin'. Got it?" All of his siblings gave curt nods, not particularly pleased with his assignment. They had all done worse of course…

Being part of the Irish Mafia made these things every day… but that was, again, a long time ago…

Wales sighed.


	2. Let's do lunch

England had not woken his husbands. A simply scrying was nothing to worry about-right? And the twins basically let him into their minds via the front door… Like they had wanted him to know?

Right now, it was too much for England to process. And he was still on his honeymoon… technically. They had found a country that wouldn't damn them to hell for getting married, gotten married and then shipped off to Prussia's cute little micro nation. Awesome micro nation, sorry.

And hey, who didn't enjoy consummating their marriage? Prussia had resisted bottoming for all of ten minutes and then shut up after that. Not an intelligible word passed his lips. After flying to Denmark, the Dane bottomed and they broke three beds to boot. Now they were in England, Mathias and Gilbert literally_ in_ Britain most of the time. The Brit, for his part, had given up protesting and just let them wander downstairs naked, pull down him boxers and wish him good morning by fucking him into the counter; or just caved in when one of them pulled the short blonde into his lap and onto a hard-on he hadn't previously noticed.

He glanced down at the two tall countries on his lap. He had loved and lost both, only to make them his now. With a sudden feeling of conviction, he promised he wouldn't let them go ever again. The rings on his fingers said as much-one silver, one gold. Denmark's were the same, on opposite ring fingers, and both of Prussia's were gold. And by silver, England meant a silver-alloy, and by gold, he meant honestly gotten gold. Being Vikings and pirates in the past had some very definite perks.

Denmark shifted in his slumber, rolling on his side, head pressing against Britain's thigh as he turned to face the tea-loving country. His blue eyes opened for a second, and he blinked lazily, smiling brilliantly up at Arthur.

"Good morning Artie." The Dane yawned and stretched, hand sliding under England's thigh and curling around until Denmark was hugging his husband's pale leg.

"It's the middle of the afternoon you twit." Britain smiled, despite the insults he used. He continued petting Denmark's head, playing with the crazy strands of hair.

"Keseseseseseseses! You're going to make lunch then, ja?" Prussia had been awoken by their talk and flipped onto his belly, doing the same as Denmark, arms wrapped around England's left leg. The two of them were staring up at him and Arthur could feel their hands meet under his knees, pale fingers interlocking under the muscle behind his knee-cap, holding hands just out of sight.

"I have a meeting today with Germany and I have to leave in…" He looked up, checked a large clock in roman numerals. "Four hours, and you lazy wankers want me to make lunch? Hmmm… let me see…no." He raised his enormous eyebrows as the two tall men made pouty faces. "After that, I have a meeting with Sweden, and I'm sure to die the-"Britain didn't get to finish the sentence.

He didn't recollect exactly when Denmark had unwrapped his arms, or when Prussia's hands had come to rest on his thighs, but he did know that the Dane's tongue was in his mouth and Prussia's cool hands were snaking all along his torso, tracing scars gently. Arthur clutched the couch, and then found himself holding them, a white-knuckled hand around Prussia's toned arm, and arm around Denmark's waist.

England sighed as the two pulled away, Denmark kissing his cheek with a grin and down his neck before flopping down on the couch beside him, Prussia chuckling and stealing a kiss before doing the same. All of their cheeks retained a slightly pink tint, Mathias and Gilbert looking so self-satisfied Arthur punched their arms lightly.

When he got up, he got his ass smacked in return as he reluctantly went to make lunch.


	3. Just getting started

Wales sighed and pet his dragons quietly, surrounded by five of the great (usually scaly) creatures. He had mastered the languages of the world's ancient inhabitants long ago, and had informed his green, blue and red friends about the problem at hand. TO any reasonable person, Wales sounded insane, making strange churring, purring and roaring sorts of sounds while adding a derisive snort in as if to punctuate.

The dragons had found this perfectly reasonable, and seemed to be enjoying their ancient language coming from another. The conversation of sorts had started in a usual fashion.

"_Hello my friends. It's a pleasure of the utmost to see you all." _Dylan had churre dhis greeting.

And the fire-breathing lizards blessed with flight had brightened up. Just coming out of mating season, all four females were land-bound and fat with eggs. The fifth was a strange male, also rather round with hatchlings. As it was quite uncommon to find gay dragons, Wales had let the couple stay with him, though in retrospect, Wales knew he should have seen it coming that the submissive male was pregnant. Magical creature's gender didn't often matter…

After the flurry of purred greetings, Wales has asked after each of the dragon's mates, asked how each of them felt, and if they needed anything. As standard greeting procedure, all five had asked him the same thing back. Wales had given them evasive answers per usual, settled down next to Cycil, the male (and the smallest), and then asked for their honest opinions.

_"Scot's after England again, but his only reason why is that he isn't…" _Wales searched for the right words and phrases in the ancient language. "_happy with his… bonded mates… They asked Scotland to consent to their bond, he refused, and they bonded anyway. They're meant for each other. Now he's going to steal England from them and try to drive them apart…"_

The dragons had given him their honest opinions and suggestions, and Wales had sat and sighed.

He could warn England and take his punishment from Scotland. He could do nothing and see what happened. He could warn the rest of the Nordics and hope they cared. He could attempt to get Germany to help and get laughed at. It was no secret that the German didn't approve of his brother's match(es).

The Welshman shook his head and stroked Cycil absently, fingers running through the short blue fur near Cycil's neck. He was already running out of options and time.

And North Ireland was currently running into the barn. He spotted Wales and ran foreward, snaking in between the dragons with rushed greetings. HE slid into Wales's lap and held him brother tightly, panicked.

"Sout's out visitn' ye gotta help me Dyl'n please. Scot's aftr me b'cause Ah disagreed wi't him, jus' voiced a min'r complaint… Hide me please, Ah'll owe ye one…" Connor's cheek was bruised and he wheezed as if he had run all the way here from the manor. After a moment of hesitation, Wales nodded and kissed his brother's cheek, gently moving his strong brother off of him and towards the red dragon.

"Go to her, she'll hide you. _Sahana, please coil up around him- fake sleep."_Ireland caught the gist, making himself as small as possible and letting the Indian dragon curl up around him coil upon coil.

Wales relaxed back against Cycil as Scotland strode in, glaring. The female dragons stared right back. The blue dragon nosed Wales's shoulder gently and the forgotten part of the UK stroked his nose. The Scottish man stormed closer to his youngest brother and picked him up by the collar of his work jacket.

"Wh're t'e hell is 'e?" The eldest was ape-shit mad, glaring for all he was worth. "Ah saw that idiot come in 'ere! 'E should stand up like a man an' own up to 'is mistakes!" The northern country bellowed at the barn walls.

"N-not here Alistor…" Wales gasped, clawing at his borhter's strong hands, his breathy accent beginning to truly lack air. "Put me down… p-please…?" The Welshman looked pleadingly at his brother, feet dangling half a foot off the floor moments before he was dropped. "What's he done now?" Wales took deep breaths.

"'E quest'ned getting' Arthur back, an' we're gonnae do it because Ah say so. Anyone who's got a problem wit' that gets tha' problem fucked right outta them." Scotland snarled, and took his temper out on the nearest non-dragon object- which happened to be Wales's side. The younger country winced again, taking a calming breath.

This was so stupid. "I'll accept his punishment for him Scotty…" The Welsh country could almost hear North's intake of breath, reminding him that this was a stupid thing to do. Someone needed to calm Scotland down before South came home. She had been barren since the potato famine years ago, but had only ever loved her twin enough to sleep with him. And as mad as he was, Scotland would attack her in all ways the moment she got home.

That was what Wales told himself.

Strong fingers lifted his face, and Wales noticed numbly that Scotland's cigar was once again missing. That was almost as foreboding as the look in his brother's eye. The blonde swallowed shakily, forcing himself to meet his elder's glare.

"Y'd do that, would 'ya?"

"Y-yes. Yes brother…" Wales sighed, the numbness regretfully leaving him as the blue dragon behind him shook in fear. "Just one thing though…" Scotland hesitated, then nodded, hungrily watching Wales as the shorter gently pulled himself away to console the furry dragon. "Get out of my barn, you're going to scare my dragons into premature birth…"


	4. Unfortunately

_**~An apology. I cannot continue to upload my stories to Fanfiction because the M rating doesn't cover extremes. This would, apparently, require an MA rating, and as I cannot select that as An option here, I am unable to post anything like I have been. I know you all wanted the next chapter, and heck, I was gonna give you it, but this story will probably get taken down like my other ones and I will have nothing to show for all that work. When I find a site that will accept MA rated stories, then I will happily provide links to every last one of them, and the rest of this beautifully gay tale. So, If you see a chapter update on this chapter, please please please check back, because I garuntee it will be a link to a different site and the rest of this fic. If I can find a way onto Archive of our own, then it'll be there. Once again, sorry. ~**_

_**Best Wishes, **_

_**Cap'n Arthur**_


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